


The Beatdown

by Fancy Lads Snacks (Filthy_Bunny)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Consensual Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Military, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filthy_Bunny/pseuds/Fancy%20Lads%20Snacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Hsu uncovers a fight club at McCarran, and doles out some punishment to the ringleader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beatdown

It was after one a.m. when Hsu made his way through the concourse. The place was a little eerie at night, lit by the glow of Nuka-Cola dispensers and the few slot machines that still worked. Doc Kemp’s desk lamp glowed in a far corner.

Hsu paused by the large area that served as barracks to many of McCarran’s soldiers. It was too dark to make out how many bunks were unoccupied. He was willing to bet it was more than could be accounted for by the numbers on night duty.

The mood at McCarran had been frankly shitty for a few months. While General Oliver had them pinned here uselessly, and Fiends taking out more of their numbers every day, morale was understandably low. McCarran’s soldiers were pissed off and nervous and there was a palpable tension in the air. Hsu knew from experience that an atmosphere like that bred frustration, and frustration led to rules being bent or broken. A few weeks ago he’d felt the first subtle changes. Nothing he could really put his finger on, but he’d started to notice soldiers talking in huddles that dissolved as soon as they saw a superior officer nearby. Little secretive smiles and looks exchanged here and there.

Then Doctor Kemp had come to him, reporting that medical supplies were going missing. Dressings mostly, but his stores of Med-X and stims were also suspiciously low. At the same time he was noticing more cuts and bruises than usual, even on soldiers who hadn’t seen combat in months. One of the young men who guarded the monorail had come to him with a broken hand. Another private had been pissing blood but refused to let Kemp examine him.

Hsu had asked Dhatri and Boyd, his most trusted officers, to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Earlier today Boyd had come to him with a scrap of information overheard in the mess hall: tonight, one o’clock. As a result, Colonel James Hsu was now prowling around his own base after midnight on the lookout for god knows what.

He’d started his search out front of the terminal building, noting the empty beds in a few of the tents. The men were missing but their armour and equipment wasn’t. That ruled out Hsu’s first suspicion that someone was mounting an unauthorised revenge mission against the Fiend camps nearby. With no further evidence to be found, he’d gone back indoors.

From the hub of the concourse, he headed down the sloping arm of corridor towards the supply shack. His skin prickled as he approached, and a moment later he registered a muffled sound of voices from beyond the metal door. A group of people, not bothering too hard to keep quiet. The supply shack was isolated enough from the rest of the base to feel like a safe spot for clandestine activities. Hsu moved forward slowly. The glass panel in the door was too filthy to see through. He gritted his teeth and pushed the door open.

The room smelled of sweat and liquor. Two dozen figures, give or take, stood in a loose circle in the centre of the room. They were watching some kind of activity going on in the space between them where the floor was lit up brightly by the striplights overhead. Whatever was happening on the floor was hidden from Hsu’s view by a cluster of men with their backs to him. He could make out little more than vague blurs of movement between their bodies, but the atmosphere was electrified and boisterous, everyone whooping or goading or cursing.

The lights threw the edges of the room into shadow. Hsu made use of the gloom to approach the group unseen, looking from figure to figure. Men, mostly, though Hsu recognised Corporal Betsy in profile, dressed in fatigues and a grubby undershirt. She had a cut by her eye and was rubbing her bicep as though an injury had been done to it. It didn’t seem to bother her; she was grinning and cheering along with the rest. Everyone was barefoot and the men were bare-chested. Boots, shirts and belts were heaped messily along one wall.

In the gaps between the bodies, Hsu caught glimpses of two figures grappling and staggering. He recognised the sounds of fists hitting flesh. Two men, fighting.

“Fuck, I _felt_ that,” someone said, flinching in sympathy.

The fighters took a tumble, the crowd parting and shifting to make way as they spilled onto the floor. Hsu could see them clearer now, though their faces were still hidden from view; one man was on his back on the floor, arms held up reflexively to protect his face, while the guy on his knees above him delivered a sickening punch to his stomach. The man on the floor brought his legs up and managed to turn onto his side, grabbing for the other man’s arm and rolling with it to try and throw him off balance.

“Back on your feet!” someone hollered. “You can take him!”

The brawlers were too preoccupied with each other, and the crowd watching them too closely for anyone to register Hsu’s presence at first. 10 of Spades, the skinny kid from First Recon, was the first to notice him. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he took a clumsy step backward, smacking at the arm of his neighbour to get their attention. It was Betsy, who followed his gaze until her eye fell on the CO.

“Oh, _shit_.”

The other members of the crowd soon followed and the room fell into a crushing silence, broken only by the heavy panting of the men in the centre. As Hsu walked forward, the onlookers shrank back until he was standing just outside the pool of light that acted as the arena.

“What in the hell is going on here?”

He didn’t raise his voice. Hsu very rarely raised his voice. As Lt Gorobets had once remarked with admiration, the Colonel talked quiet enough for everyone to hear, and calm enough to scare the shit out of them. Hsu took it as a compliment.

He looked at the men who had been fighting. The one who’d been on the floor now got to his knees. It was one of Carrie Boyd’s MPs, Hornsby. He was sporting some ugly scratches across his chest and held a hand to his tenderised stomach. The man who had just been kicking the crap out of him reached out an arm to help Hornsby to his feet. It took Hsu a moment to recognise the second man, not because he didn’t know him but because he looked so different with his First Recon beret gone, breathless and bloody from fighting, dripping with sweat and attitude. Bitter-Root. Major Dhatri’s kid. Born a Khan but NCR to the core. Barely out of his fucking teens and already one of their most promising snipers.

Hsu looked around the room from face to face. Took in the sweaty skin, the taped knuckles, the bruises old and new. Looked as though everyone had gotten a turn in the ring, some of them tonight. He took a mental note of each soldier’s name. Tuckman. Garrido. Crenshaw. Hsu glared. Davey fucking Crenshaw had caused him nothing but trouble in the past, but his particular brand of nuisance was infantile pranks; this was something else entirely. Johnson. Bull. Contreras, the quartermaster, another one Hsu had little liking and not much trust for. There had always been something shifty about that bastard. White, Forte… More and more of them, all from the lower ranks. Most of them fine soldiers, if a little green.

Hsu turned to Hornsby. “Want to tell me what you two were fighting about, Corporal?”

“Nothing, sir.”

He turned his eyes on Bitter-Root. “Sergeant?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Pretty good turn-out to watch a fight over nothing.” He pointed at Bull, who guarded the main gate by day. His hand and forearm were bandaged. “What did you do to that wrist, Private?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Oh? You’re happy to use up our medical supplies on nothing?”

Bull turned crimson. “I just—sprained it, sir. During training.”

Hsu started to pace up and down the ragged line of soldiers. “Let’s start again,” he said. “I’m going to ask what this is all about, and the next person to tell me ‘Nothing, sir’ spends the week in a cell.” He stopped in front of 10 of Spades. “What’s going on here, Recruit?”

“It’s a c-c—” The man scrubbed a hand over his mouth anxiously. “It’s a— _club_ , sir.”

“A club?” He moved on to Betsy. “Who’s responsible for this club?”

Betsy didn’t falter at all. “We all are, sir.”

Contreras next. “This one of your ideas, Sergeant?”

“No sir, Colonel,” Contreras replied, too casually for Hsu’s liking.

“So you just provided the venue, that it?”

“Yes sir.”

“And which one of you proposed this idea to Sergeant Contreras?” he asked, looking from one soldier to the next. They all avoided his eye, staring instead at the floor or ceiling. At least most of them had the decency to look thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

“Well, isn’t this a perfect democracy,” Hsu said. “That’s fine. You’ll all share the punishment.”

“It was me, sir,” said a rough voice to Hsu’s left.

He turned to look at the speaker, and stared in surprise. It was Bitter-Root.

“Don’t be a hero, Sergeant,” Hsu warned.

“I’m not, sir. It was me that got this started.”

Hsu had a talent for detecting a lie, but Bitter-Root wasn’t setting off his alarms.

“Is this true?” Hsu looked at White. “Did the Sergeant organise all this?”

White went… well, _white_. He clearly didn’t want to point the finger at Bitter-Root, but his hesitation alone made it clear that the answer was an affirmative. Eventually he mumbled a guilty “Yes, sir.”

Hsu looked along the line of faces one last time. He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with all of them right now. Better to take care of the ringleader and let the others stew overnight.

He jabbed a finger at Bitter-Root. “You stay here. Everyone else back to barracks, _now_. I catch a single one of you out of your bunk before morning, you’ll be facing a hell that’ll make this little gathering look like a square dance. Is that clear?”

There was an assorted mumble of _Yessir_ s and the soldiers made a beeline for the door, grabbing up boots and shirts on the way. Once the door had banged closed behind the last of them, Hsu stood facing Bitter-Root in ringing silence.

The kid was a mess. His bare chest and arms showed a patchwork of bruises, some yellow and faint, others a fresh, livid red. Blood trickled from a raw scrape on his shoulder where he’d hit the ground. His knuckles were wrapped in grimy tape and there was blood on his fingers. Probably not all his. His fatigues were filthy and hung low on his hips. The only thing identifying him as a soldier of the NCR rather than some wasteland raider was the dog tags around his neck.

“You got anything to say for yourself, Sergeant?”

Bitter-Root stared straight ahead. “Not really, sir.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a month, sir.”

“How often?”

“Around once a week.”

“Care to tell me why?”

It took Bitter-Root a moment to answer. “Just letting off steam, sir.”

“Letting off steam?” Hsu stepped right up to Bitter-Root until they were almost nose to nose. “We’re in spitting distance of the goddamn Vegas Strip. There’s nothing to do there but blow off steam. I guess you couldn’t wait for leave?”

He didn’t think Bitter-Root would reply at first. But there was still some fight in the boy yet. “The troops are getting antsy, sir,” he said. “Don’t like sitting on their hands.”

“I don’t recall appointing you as morale officer, Sergeant.”

“No sir.”

“None of us likes this situation any more than you. We’re all frustrated, but we have enough threats to worry about without being sabotaged by our own men.” Hsu took a step back. “We’re short enough on soldiers, on supplies, on training—”

“Then think of this as extra training,” Bitter-Root said.

Hsu back-handed him across the face before he could get to the ‘ _Sir’_. Bitter-Root’s head snapped round as the sound of the impact rang out in the supply room. Hsu immediately felt sick at himself. Striking one of his men was unforgiveable regardless of the situation. His anger flared up as much at himself as at the sergeant.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, flexing his fingers to get rid of the sting. “Don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a service. Tell me, Sergeant, how exactly are these men supposed to fight the enemy when they’re injured from fighting each other? It isn’t easy to fire a rifle with a sprained wrist or broken hand. Or to walk for miles in the desert while you’re pissing blood thanks to a punch in the kidneys.”

He started to pace again.

“Do you know how many soldiers from this camp have been killed in the last week? How many?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Seventeen. Seventeen men and women dead. How many of them were involved in this club?”

Bitter-Root kept silent, burning a hole in the far wall with his eyes.

“How many of the men I just sent away will last out the week? Did you ever stop to think about that? How many will be a little too slow, a little too sore to get the drop on their enemy?”

The sergeant had the decency to look pretty ill at the thought.

“As for the soldiers in your unit… I don’t even know where to start. After what Cook-Cook did to the Corporal, you think this is what she needs?”

“She wanted this more than anyone, sir,” the kid threw back.

“ _Don’t answer me back,_ ” Hsu snapped, raising his voice for the first time. Bitter-Root was stunned back into silence. “You are their sergeant. You had a responsibility to that unit, and you betrayed it. You had a responsibility to your superiors, a responsibility to me, and a responsibility to the goddamn flag of the NCR. Do you have any respect at all for what this army stands for?”

“Yes sir. Means more to me than anything else in the world, sir.”

“Well you’re doing a damn good job of pissing on it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“We fight for a purpose. For a greater good. Not because we get a kick out of it. The minute we do that, we become no better than Fiends.”

That hit home like another blow. Bitter-Root twitched. He was clearly ashamed, but there was still a defiance burning in him that made Hsu want to shake him. He didn’t like how riled up he felt, how the fire in the sergeant’s eyes was fraying at his usual calm.

“What the hell happened to you, son?” he said. “Are you really that twisted up inside that this is what you choose to do for entertainment? Didn’t you get enough of a beatdown in the Khans?” He leaned in close to Bitter-Root again. “Or maybe there’s just too much of your parents’ blood in you.”

Bitter-Root looked him in the eye for the first time, and his eyes flashed angrily.

“What, you wanna hit me back?” Hsu growled. “Take a shot, soldier. Guess you owe me one.”

He took a step back. Bitter-Root watched him, dumbfounded, as he unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it aside. He threw his beret down next, and beckoned to Bitter-Root to throw his first punch.

“I’m not gonna hit you, sir,” Bitter-Root said, but his voice had a warning edge to it, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Why not? Seems to be how you solve every other problem. Go ahead.”

They faced off for a while. It was clear in Bitter-Root’s face that he was battling between respect for his CO and the furious energy pulsing through his body. Hsu could sympathise; it was the same struggle going on in his own head. He couldn’t quite believe he was standing here in his undershirt goading a young sergeant to take a pop at him. Then again, he couldn’t quite believe most of what had happened tonight.

Just as he thought the kid had decided to back down, Bitter-Root came at him. It was fast, but Hsu was faster. He hadn’t spent so long behind a desk that he’d forgotten his training, and he’d always been skilled in unarmed combat. As Bitter-Root swung his fist, Hsu blocked with his forearm. He simultaneously pushed him hard in the chest and kicked out one of his legs, sending him down flat on his back onto the ground. Hsu stepped back and let him get to his feet.

Bitter-Root ran at him lower this time, tried to grapple Hsu by the waist, but Hsu brought an elbow down between his shoulders and a knee up into his stomach. He used no more force than was necessary, and drove Bitter-Root down onto the floor on his side.

The sergeant went for him a third time. He was strong and quick and pretty fucking relentless, but tiredness and anger were getting the better of him. Hsu knocked him down once more. This time he kept him pinned for a few seconds, hoping to tire the springy little bastard out. But holding him in place, cheek to the dirty ground, Hsu felt a rush of something that felt like triumph. He let go and stepped back quickly. It wasn’t his plan to enjoy this.

Bitter-Root lashed out from the floor now, managed to pull one of Hsu’s legs out from under him, and was up on his knees like a flash to tackle him. They wrestled for a moment, evenly matched in terms of strength, but Hsu’s experience was on his side and he came out on top. Literally. Bitter-Root gasped as his back hit the floor, and Hsu felt that odd thrill again. The kid’s leg came up between Hsu’s, but rather than drive the knee into Hsu’s groin he just nudged gently at the juncture of Hsu’s thighs. _What the_ —

He moved back in surprise. Bitter-Root scrambled up onto his knees and they watched each other for a moment. Hsu’s heart was pounding harder than it should. Bitter-Root breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling, making his dog tags glint in the bright electric light. Having the kid’s eyes on him made Hsu’s skin prickle. He surged forward and threw him down roughly. His earlier grace and economy of force were gone. He rolled Bitter-Root onto his front and wrenched an arm behind his back. He knelt over the sergeant, straddling his legs. He kept his grip on Bitter-Root’s arm and put his other hand between his shoulder blades, pinning him with more strength than was necessary. The skin beneath his palms was hot and slick with sweat and he could feel Bitter-Root’s pulse racing like his own. He still felt angry enough to pound the kid into the floor. But something else was surging in him too, making his body too sensitive, his limbs tingle and his balls tighten.

In horror, Hsu recognised the sensations as lust. At the same moment, Bitter-Root tilted his hips back and pushed his ass against Hsu’s crotch with a low moan. Hsu let go of him, dropping his arm like he’d been burned, but it was too late. His cock was already hardening fast inside his fatigues.

Bitter-Root pushed up onto his elbows and knees in front of him. On an insane impulse, Hsu grabbed one of his hips and pressed against him, letting Bitter-Root feel the effect he was having on him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Bitter-Root groaned, his head lolling down between his shoulders. There was no doubt he was in the same state as the Colonel.

It had been so long since Hsu had felt strong sexual desire for another man—not since he was greener than gecko hide, falling drunkenly into bed with his unit sergeant. Over the years he had crushed any such leanings down into nothing more than a detached appreciation of a strong jaw or the good fit of a uniform. Not that he had the time to worry about sex with either gender. There were so many other things that took priority over his private life that he’d learned to push those urges down. But now they were pushing back with a vengeance. It had never felt like this, this overwhelming need to devour and dominate the body stretched out underneath him, to just fucking _consume_ him.

Being blindsided by lust made him more angry, and his anger only made him more horny. He reached around and fumbled the kid’s pants open. Bitter-Root gasped and tried to rut forward against his hand. Hsu hooked his fingers into the waistband of the sergeant’s fatigues and yanked them down, taking his underwear with them. The desperate sound Bitter-Root made as his ass was bared was almost as hot as the sight of him. Almost. Hsu’s blood roared in his ears and pounded in his cock as he ran his eyes over him, naked from his buzzed scalp to his thighs, his skin a rich golden brown, dirty and lean and young and more beautiful than anything Hsu had seen in a very long time.

_I can’t do this_ , Hsu told himself, but even as he was thinking it his body was damning him further. One hand on Bitter-Root’s ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh, he hastily unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly with the other. He spat in his palm, licked it good and sloppy wet, and slicked up his dick.

Bitter-Root’s moaned again as he felt the blunt head of Hsu’s cock nudge against his ass. He pushed back willingly, even when the moan became a broken whimper as Hsu pressed into him. Hsu tried to go slow but Bitter-Root was pushing back too hard, too fast. It had to hurt. But Hsu looked at the bruises on the sergeant’s back and figured that he wanted it to hurt. He let out his own shuddering breath as he rammed his dick home.

Fuck, _fuck_ , it was almost too much. He looked down at where their bodies were joined, some distant part of his brain vaguely musing that it looked as though Bitter-Root had overpowered him, after all. He dragged a hand down the long curve of Bitter-Root’s spine as he started to rut into him. The other man’s shoulders slackened as he stopped pressing back and just gave in to being fucked. He reached a hand down to wrap around his cock.

“No you don’t,” Hsu growled.

He pulled Bitter-Root’s hand away and twisted the arm behind his back. Bitter-Root writhed under him, tilting back to meet each thrust, increasing the impact every time their bodies slammed together. It felt so good, better than anything Hsu could remember. Dangerously good, like an addictive chem. He could already feel an orgasm building in him. He was torn between relief and regret.

He gripped the base of his cock tightly and pulled out to a sob of protest from Bitter-Root. He turned the sergeant roughly onto his back. Bitter-Root grabbed for him, bunched up his fists into Hsu’s undershirt, snagging fingers in his dog tags, and tried to pull him back down. Hsu snatched the kid’s wrists away.

“Don’t stop, _please_ ,” Bitter-Root begged.

Hsu looked down at him. All the defiance was gone from Bitter-Root’s face, replaced with something far more hot and needy. His cock lay flushed and leaking against his belly, straining to be touched. Hsu’s own dick throbbed in the cool air, skin too tight, demanding to be put back to use. He yanked Bitter-Root’s fatigues the rest of the way off and hoisted one bared leg over his arm. Bitter-Root cried out as Hsu shoved back inside him.

“This your kind of fight?” he snarled, buried to the hilt.

“Yes,” Bitter-Root gasped, and Hsu drove the breath out of him again with another punishing thrust.

He started to fuck him slow and hard, rolling his hips back and then snapping forward, dragging pleading groans from the man under him with every move. “This the beatdown you were looking for?”

“Oh god, fuck, _yes_.”

Bitter-Root clawed at his sides, dug blunt fingertips into his ass, trying to pull him closer, deeper. The boxing tape on his knuckles was rough against Hsu’s skin. He looked up at the Colonel through dark lashes. It was a bad idea, fucking face-to-face like this. Having Bitter-Root watching him like that was too much, made it too personal, reminded him how wrong all of this was, but Hsu was too weak to stop. Instead he leaned his weight on one arm and clapped his other hand over Bitter-Root’s eyes.

Bitter-Root drew the pad of Hsu’s thumb into his mouth, teasing it between his teeth. Hsu grunted when he bit down harder, but didn’t pull away. Bitter-Root slid one hand up under Hsu’s shirt onto his chest. The other reached for his own cock. Hsu let him this time, watched as the fist pumped up and down his length at the same pace as Hsu was fucking him.

Bitter-Root lifted his knees, wrapped his legs as best he could around the Colonel’s waist as he tipped his pelvis up. Hsu must be hitting his prostate at this new angle, judging by the way Bitter-Root moaned long and hard, voice muffled around Hsu’s thumb. Hsu drew his hand away to hear him better. Bitter-Root’s eyes were squeezed closed, lost in his own world of pleasure.

Hsu pushed back on Bitter-Root’s thighs, bending him in half and fucking him faster. Within a few seconds Bitter-Root was coming, gasping out _fuck_ and _god_ and _yes_ , slamming his fist down the shaft of his cock as he spurted hot come onto his belly and chest.

The debauched sight of him paired with the even tighter squeeze of his ass around Hsu’s cock brought Hsu right to the brink and he teetered there for a moment, dizzied by the wave of sensation building in him, breaking over him, drowning him. Then he was coming too, rocking into Bitter-Root’s body in hard, clumsy motions. He planted his hands on either side of Bitter-Root’s head and let his arms take his weight as the last of the orgasm shook through him.

Hsu’s body felt too heavy in the stillness that followed. As his breathing slowed, he became aware of the chill in the room, rapidly cooling the sweat that soaked his undershirt even though his skin still burned. Bitter-Root stroked a hand up Hsu’s side. Hsu turned his head and saw how close their mouths were. Their eyes met for a moment. Bitter-Root’s expression was all fucked-out bliss and exhaustion, but there was something else hiding there too. Some other yearning. Hsu turned away, breaking the connection. He pulled out of the sergeant’s body and hastily tucked himself back in his pants.

Bitter-Root stayed where he was on the floor, covered in dirt and bruises and both of their come. Hsu couldn’t look back at him. Something inside him would break if he did. He picked up his jacket and beret from the floor and kept his back to the sergeant as he put them on. There was nothing he needed to say, no warning that wasn’t already painfully clear. He headed for the door without a word.

Next day it would be his job to dole out discipline. The thought made him nauseous; he was no better than any one of them. He was worse. But it was his responsibility to make an example of those involved and ensure that nothing like this happened again.

His own punishment could come later.

_\--Epilogue--_

The next day was painful for every member of the club, in more ways than one. Bruised knuckles and cracked ribs were nothing compared to the injuries to pride and reputation. Hsu lined them all up on the tarmac in front of the terminal building in the midday sun and tore a verbal strip off the lot of them in front of every other soldier in camp. Later, the sound of Lieutenant Gorobets bawling out First Recon could be heard all the way to the top of the control tower, and rumour had it Lieutenant Boyd made Hornsby cry. Hsu docked their pay to cover the missing medical supplies, plus any surplus that had been used to treat injuries incurred at the club, and gave them all slave shifts in the kitchens, laundry and latrines on top of their regular duties.

A few days later, Hsu roped in the help of some courier-turned-vigilante and his misfit group and sent First Recon out with them to take down Cook-Cook once and for all. Bringing back that son of a bitch’s head gave 10 of Spades and Betsy some closure. For Bitter-Root, any sense of victory was soured on their return to McCarran. After a terse congratulatory speech, Hsu promptly gave the order for the unit to be reassigned to Forlorn Hope with immediate effect. He never once looked Bitter-Root in the eye.

Bitter-Root went to Hsu’s office that evening and asked if it could wait, came up with bullshit excuses why their presence was still needed at McCarran. Hsu stared at his paperwork and said no. Bitter-Root asked in a voice barely above a whisper if he could come by Hsu’s quarters that night. Hsu stared at his paperwork, and said no.

After sun-up, First Recon packed up and headed east, no looking back.


End file.
